Angel Tears
by Accidental Paradox
Summary: Maybe those scarred by time won't be so alone anymore.
1. Visitors

Disclaimer - I don't own Edward or any other characters featuring in the film "Edward Scissorhands." However, Mike and any new characters belong to me.  
  
I am not giving you a synopsis because it would spoil the story. Just that it takes place after the conclusion of the film, but not too far in the distant future.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Angel Tears  
  
Chapter 1 - Visitors  
  
The lounge clock read 11:30 pm. Mike Taylor awoke from a heavy doze so suddenly he upset his coffee. Brown stains spread in veins across the table, from the remains of his dinner to the neatly stacked papers and folders at his side. In a matter of seconds, the destruction was complete.  
  
"Great! That's tonight's paperwork ruined!"  
  
He started mopping up the mess, which had by then spread to the sleeve of his jacket and tried, not very successfully, to control his temper:  
  
"The boss will have my head for this! My job's on the line already!"  
  
Managing to save some of the papers, he placed the rest on his heater to dry and went to the mirror to survey the damage.  
  
A pale, too-thin face stared back at him. The eyes sunken in and ringed with dark circles. He was wearing his best work jacket, now drenched and stained, and as he removed his arm from the sleeve, long jagged scars were visible down his left arm. Still breathing heavily from the shock of awakening, he looked at his arm and winced.  
  
"Don't have any more decent clothes. At least, I don't think I have."  
  
He glanced round the apartment and the look on his face turned to one of despair. The single light was dingy and gave the room an old, library-like feel. Books and papers were strewn everywhere, from the table to the floor around the small television. The table itself was the nerve centre of mike's work. His job at the office required a lot of extra hours and being a junior they made sure he put the work in.  
  
The yellowing wallpaper in the apartment's lounge was mostly covered by DIY shelves, filled to bursting with books of such an age they gave off a musty, timeless smell of their own. This was Mike's other work. his life and something he would give anything to save. There was barely room for one person in the tiny room, and the single cupboard in the living room was the only place where he could possibly have another suit for work.  
  
As he expected, none of his other clothes would pass inspection at a moderately expensive restaurant. The sweatshirts were faded and old, the trousers worn and the shirts were in a variety of clashing colours. The wedding outfit he had that he might have been able to salvage he had lent to his father for a funeral, and everything was so creased his little iron would not have a chance.  
  
Mike sighed and put his soaking jacket next to the heater.  
  
"This had better be dry by tomorrow! Can't give them anything else to worry about."  
  
In that, he could not be more right. The people at the office already had a great deal to discuss about good old Mike Taylor. Why at 20 with extremely good grades was he stuck in a cheap overworked office, why he never wore short sleeves and cool clothes even in the most vicious heat, why even though his salary was poor he should have definitely be able to afford a better pit than the one he lived in. Oh yes, they had plenty to talk about.  
  
A sudden shooting pain in his head brought him out of his reverie and drew his eyes to the clock.  
  
"11:30 already! Oh no I haven't finished those papers yet!"  
  
He went over to the heater and looked at the still saturated documents. He cursed and went to sit back down in front of the television to wait for them to dry. Shortly after another pain in his head shot him out of his chair with a start.  
  
"No! Not now!"  
  
The pain in his head was getting worse, and his eyes refused to open all the way. Holding his head in his hands, he switched off the television and stumbled into the apartment's only bedroom. The doctor had warned him about his increased lack of sleep, and how if he didn't ease up he would very likely end up in the hospital. That didn't bother Mike Taylor, as long as he could continue his work. However, blinding headaches that caused him to pass out did not help in the slightest.  
  
"Leave me alone just this once tonight let me rest oh God please leave me alone."  
  
The pain was too bad for him to concentrate on what he was doing, he simply dropped onto the bed and fell instantly into a deep dreamless sleep.  
  
******************  
  
The bedside clock read 3:10am. The window of Mike Taylor's tiny bedroom was thrown open with such force it shook the pictures on the walls.  
  
Mike lay on the bed and pulled the covers over his head, sobbing quietly.  
  
"No, no please don't go away leave me alone."  
  
The wind outside began to blow more strongly. However nothing outside moved so much as an inch. Mike sat up, hunched in a foetal position and stared in terror at the open window, the curtains fluttering gently as if blown by the mildest of breezes.  
  
Outside the apartment, high in the sky, something was forming.  
  
A soft glow broke out over the street. Above the buildings, a blue light began to shine softly. It pulsated gently, and appeared to draw things into itself, and as wisps of what looked like cloud gathered about it, it took on the shape of a living blue mist shot through with a thousand colours. As it moved it made a sound like the breath of wind through a chime, ethereal and yet so soft that no one stirred. Small yet complete, the mist blew and turned in the sky above until it seemed to take on a new purpose and flowed with ease through the open window of Mike Taylor.  
  
As the mist entered his room, Mike let out a strangled scream and buried himself still deeper under his blankets, however, his eyes were still visible above, stark and full of fear.  
  
As the mist entered the room, it divided and moved apart. Six separate mists hovered around Mike's bed. Then, they changed shape.  
  
The mist flowed as if into invisible moulds. Faces, hands clothing appeared until what were standing in front of mike were not groups of mist but distinct figures. Each pale and partially transparent, and with a faint blue glow, but alert and aware. All looking at Mike with what seemed like unshakeable hope.  
  
They were children.  
  
As they formed they crowded closer, and Mike could see them more clearly. Four were boys of varying age, and the two girls looked as though they may be sisters. A boy who seemed the oldest of the six, although his features were strangely blank and smooth, walked forward until he stood at Mike's side. Mike was trembling uncontrollably, and his face was beaded with sweat.  
  
"Please no. I can't." He whispered.  
  
The boy looked sad for a moment, as if with pity - and then spoke:  
  
"Help us."  
  
Another boy stepped forward.  
  
"My father hurts my mother. She is crying. Please save her and tell her everything will be alright."  
  
"Please." Begged Mike. The boy only looked at him with determination in his eyes.  
  
The two girls stepped forward and spoke as one, their voices echoing and whispering around Mike's brain.  
  
"They said we were too much work. We helped but they didn't listen. They didn't want us anymore. Tell our grandmother what happened. She loved us very much before we died. Make our parents pay for what they did to us."  
  
The two girls looked angry, yet their eyes were full of love for their grandmother. Mike hung his head and sobbed.  
  
"I didn't ask for this. You haunt me every night. Why can I not have my own life? Please see that I cannot do this for you. I can't take it any more."  
  
The girls looked startled, and one started forward. The older boy stopped her with a gesture, and turned to Mike again. This time his voice had a mint of malice.  
  
Who else can we turn to? There is no one else. We are denied paradise and peace because of what happened to us. Why should we not make you do what we wish? The higher orders have accepted what has happened but we cannot. Why should we suffer, all of us, thousands upon thousands because you want to hold down a job?  
  
Mike looked into the furious boys eyes and realised. This was no child. Hundreds of years ago he might have been, but now he was a desperate adult trapped as a child forever. Unless he could help.  
  
"No. I can't." Again desperate, pleading.  
  
"Very well." The older boy said.  
  
"We will drive you mad."  
  
The others nodded assent. Mike was too terrified to move. He sat and shivered and watched in horror as the children once more began to change. Unconsciously, his hand ran his fingers over the scars on his wrists.  
  
The mist had once again merged together, becoming a writhing mass of tendrils. It grew larger and larger, and a sound could be heard. It reminded Mike of screaming children, which he realised, it probably was.  
  
Then a bright flash of white light made Mike fling up a hand to shield his face. Something shot through the window right into the middle of the mist, scattering it in all directions. The white light stayed in the centre of the room, pulsing, as the blue mist once again became children.  
  
Then, the while light changed too.  
  
This time it was different, as if light became solid and three dimensional. It filled out and dimmed somewhat, but nevertheless when the brightness cleared another child stood in front of Mike's bed.  
  
The other children were afraid of this one, though the anger was clear on their faces. One of the younger boy hissed and drew back as the white figure turned to look at him, and the others barley hid their hatred. Mike thought he heard the word "Guardian" muttered but the white figure showed no sign of having heard. It looked fully at Mike for the first time and He realised that this was a boy no older in appearance than six, though his eyes told different. He smiled a little sadly at Mike and whispered  
  
"You are safe now."  
  
Turning to the children, he made a slow, polite dismissing gesture.  
  
"Do not return. Leave this man in peace."  
  
Glaring and muttering, the children dissolved, and all that was left was the smell of a cold wind.  
  
The figure turned once more to Mike, its tone of voice apologetic.  
  
"I am sorry. They shouldn't have bothered you. How long has it been going on for?"  
  
Mike gritted his teeth and managed to choke out  
  
"Five years."  
  
The boy looked shocked.  
  
"How has it gone on so long? Perhaps the newly dead, but never the others.we would have forseen it."  
  
Mike shrugged  
  
"Don't ask me. I am just the mortal stuck in the middle of all this. No one has ever tried to explain to me before."  
  
The boy still looked troubled. He came closer and laid a glowing hand on Mike's shoulder. A hand with no weight or mass but still with comfort.  
  
"They will never trouble you again. And I will see to that myself. I cannot stop recent spirits, but they find their own way quickly. Especially the adults."  
  
Mike's face broke into an exhausted smile.  
  
"Really?"  
  
The boy smiled.  
  
"Yes. I can also help you. Call on us whenever you need help. You have always been able to do this and we will gladly help you. Especially me. It was partly my fault that this happened."  
  
A shadow crossed the boys face, and he hung his head slightly. The glow dimmed and Mike turned to him in concern.  
  
"What is it? What is wrong?"  
  
The spirit looked embarrassed.  
  
"I shouldn't know of the world, yet I cannot help but look out for my family. Memories are supposed to be lost, yet many retain them. I cannot stop thinking of my relatives and friends. Especially the brother I never had."  
  
The sadness radiating from the boy was incredible. Mike felt his eyes fill with tears. Finally he spoke.  
  
"Who are you? Where is your family?" Suddenly more than anything else in the world he wished to make the boy smile again.  
  
The boy looked surprised, but started to explain.  
  
"My father gave birth to me when he was very young. He never married, and my mother died shortly after my birth. He loved her dearly, and that nearly destroyed him. He was an inventor you see, he made great things. All simple pleasures could be found in his workshop. When she died we moved to a great castle on a hill where my father continued his work. He was angry at the real world and wanted to escape. It was all for me, me and him. His great wealth made sure he didn't need to work."  
  
The boy stopped, and Mike looked up questioningly. The boy stared at him with shining eyes.  
  
"And then, I died. Pneumonia. Even my fathers great love could not save me."  
  
Mike hung his head. He asked  
  
"Where is your father now?"  
  
The boy smiled again, and Mike saw for the first time, pure love.  
  
"He is at peace. His loving work and child-like innocence offered him eternal paradise."  
  
Mike was puzzled.  
  
"But then.who...?"  
  
"My father had one more child, though no child like anything on this earth. A man of such innocence and love he is condemned to spend eternity alone. Immortal, and unfinished. His name is Edward and he is the brother I never had."  
  
The boy closed his eyes and a single glowing tear ran down his face.  
  
"He lives in the castle all alone. My father died before Edward was finished. Once, he tried to leave, but he was hounded and chased through the streets. We were not permitted to interfere, me least of all."  
  
Mike started.  
  
"They chased him? Human beings chased a helpless child through the streets? That couldn't be real!"  
  
The child spoke bitterly  
  
"It was very real, and it was my brother they chased like an animal. Those fools did that to my brother!"  
  
Mike sat up straight in his bed, a new look of determination in his eyes.  
  
"Where is the castle? I will find him and protect him. I promise you that."  
  
The boy's eyes lit up  
  
"You would do that? For me? After all your suffering you would assist one of us?"  
  
Mike nodded.  
  
"You have freed me and helping you is my way of saying thanks. Besides, I have been alone for years. Both I and Edward need friends more than anything."  
  
The boy agreed. His voice becoming more excited.  
  
"Tell him about me. My name is Jonathan. The castle is near the suburbs of this very city. It is on a hill. Thank you so much..."  
  
Suddenly the light around the boy grew brighter and his form began to fade.  
  
" I must go now. Do not forget to call on us for help. You will know how. Thank you so much for helping me. I will never forget your kindness."  
  
The light pulsed once more and Mike once again covered his eyes. Then it was gone, and there was no sound but the wind rustling the curtains at the open window. Mike looked at the bedside clock.  
  
It was 11:35pm.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Hope you liked it! Please review, constructive criticism always welcome. =D Next chapter will be out as soon as possible. 


	2. Farewell to the Sun

Disclaimer - I don't own Edward or any other characters featuring in the film "Edward Scissorhands." However, Mike and any new characters belong to me.  
  
Thank you very much for the nice reviews of the last chapter. I am sorry if this next one is shorter, and a bit boring but I need to move things along in this way otherwise it may not make sense. Thank you also Vetmeddoc for beta reading the beginning of this story and helping me make it a lot better.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Angel Tears  
  
Chapter 2 - Farewell to the Sun  
  
The next morning, after the best sleep in five years, Mike woke just as the warm pink glow of very early sunrise spread over the horizon. It crept through the curtains, round corners and filled every inch of his body with a great feeling of contentment.  
  
As he dressed, he could think of nothing else but the boy Jonathan and his sad words. Over and over again, he saw his face in his mind, divine yet so unutterably sad. Thinking about it brought tears to his own eyes, and he was surprised to find his eyes wet and sparkling.  
  
"I must help him - I must. This boy, Edward, I don't know how but I will do my best to look after him. As if he was my own brother."  
  
As if in answer, the light brightened and the sliver of gold that heralded the presence of the sun peeked over the apartment rooftops.  
  
"Thanks John." Mike said gratefully. "I will need all the help I can get."  
  
That settled it, after all these years he had been finally released and given a new purpose. Even the painful tightness of his scars did not bother him as he bustled around and collected various articles from around the shabby rooms. Much crashing and hunting through piles of papers later, he stood in the centre of the lounge with a small tattered leather bag, which now held some basic travelling articles.  
  
Taking one last look round the room, he gave a deep sigh as he took in all of the papers and books lying around, as if discarded and forgotten.  
  
"I will find a way. I promise you, I won't forget." He whispered so softly that not a speck of dust stirred.  
  
Striding purposefully towards the door, he opened it and looked back one last time.  
  
"This may be the end of the road."  
  
The door slammed. A single piece of paper fell from a hall shelf and floated gently onto the mat.  
  
The title read "I love you, my son."  
  
**************  
  
All the way to his office, Mike could not concentrate. He shifted in his seat on the train, and tried desperately to avoid the nagging sense of claustrophobia beginning to rise in his mind.  
  
The train was crowded as usual, and all around bodies were pressing in on him. Angry faces glared at him from behind newspapers, and mothers took one look at his gaunt, tatty appearance and shepherded their children into their arms. In his feverish state, he imagined the newspapers to be evil masks, and cowered lower, as if trying to sink into the floor. The only thing that kept him going was the importance of his trip. It was time to end the torture that began long ago.  
  
Staggering from the train ten minutes later, he groped for the fresh air and stumbled up the steps and into the foyer. Leaning against the wall, he wondered what had made him panic so. True, he never liked riding the train, but it had been a while since he lost control like that. Usually he just sat as quietly as possible and read a book, but this time the feeling of menace was unmistakable, and he had to leave as quickly as possible.  
  
Thinking, he surmised that it was probably the intense events of yesterday that had caused him to drop his guard. His meticulous mental defences had been all but shattered by the experience of the previous evening, and he realised with a shock that he was completely unprepared.  
  
"What will they say? I have no idea how to tell them." He muttered, as he adopted a painfully controlled posture and began the short trek to his office.  
  
"Just keep it short."  
  
He pushed open a grimy glass door and entered his office building. As always, the first thing that struck him was the smell. It was the smell of a carpet not washed since the dawn of time, of gathering dust and pungent disinfectant. It made him want to wince, but his pride would not allow it. Instead he strode up to a small scruffy desk in the centre of the hall, and tried to make his presence felt:  
  
"Excuse me? I need to speak to Andrew. That is, if he's not in a meeting."  
  
The bored looking secretary didn't even bother to look up.  
  
"It finished in five minutes. You can stand outside as long as you are quiet. Fourth floor, third door on your left."  
  
Mike waited for some sort of small talk, but got none. Sighing he muttered "Thanks." and made his way past the desk to the lifts.  
  
As the door of the lift closed, he realised that the secretary was so bored because there was no way that anyone would ever want to come into that building. The wallpaper was browning and aged, the pot plants were sadly neglected, and the overall air of something no one cared about was obviously infectious.  
  
"I had no choice. But I will be so glad to see the back of this place."  
  
He stopped his voice just in time, as the lift doors opened, and some dreary business types attempted to shuffle their way into the lift. Mike politely pushed his way past them, and made his way down the hall. Pausing outside the third door on the left, he noticed it was slightly ajar. Raised voices could be heard from inside.  
  
"What do you mean, cutbacks?! Yes, I admit there has been a lack of work recently - "  
  
The first voice was rudely interrupted by a second, shrill and brimming with sarcasm.  
  
"Lack of work? There has been none! We have twice as many staff as we need, and I am telling you some must go a.s.a.p. If you don't want to leave yourself, I expect you to get shot of the others this very day!"  
  
The first voice, which Mike now recognised as his old friend Andrew, muttered complaints and faint objections, but all in vain. There was a final "Just do it Andrew!" and then in a swirling of skirt an old bird-like woman pushed past him and stormed to the lift. Andrew poked his head round the door sheepishly, and then started as he saw Mike standing there, obviously having heard.  
  
"Hey, look I can deal with her, Mike. Don't worry about it."  
  
Mike raised his hands pleadingly.  
  
"No, no it's ok Andy. Hey, I knew from the start that this was a temporary thing. In fact, I have a bit of news to tell you myself."  
  
Andy looked puzzled as he studied Mike closely, but he could account for no good reason behind the shining, happy look in his friend's usually withdrawn features. Then, it hit him:  
  
"Hey don't tell me you came into money? Good God you deserve it though! You won't be needing this place anymore."  
  
Mike laughed, and patted his friend on the back, the weakness of his gesture emphasised by the bagginess of his sleeve. Unconsciously, Andrew followed the gesture, a worried look crossing his face.  
  
"Nothing like that. I just have somewhere else to be. I'm quitting Andy, for good."  
  
Andy's face darkened.  
  
"What do you mean? You do have another job, right? Hey, I know it's none of my business, but you're a strange guy Mike, and we worry about you. You going to be ok?"  
  
His eyes wandered again to Mike's long sleeves. Mike self-consciously crossed them behind his back, feeling the tissues tighten. Andrew shuffled uncomfortably.  
  
"Sorry, forget I asked. Just be careful ok?"  
  
Mike nodded, suddenly feeling very sad. This place had supported him, barely, for almost two years and he realised that Andrew did care about what happened to him. Shaking his head sadly, he managed to get out:  
  
"Take care, Andy. Tell the others goodbye, and thanks. Thanks for looking after me. I'll be alright."  
  
Will a small wave, he turned and walked away down the corridor, all the while feeling Andrew's eyes following, boring into his back. Instead of facing the doors of the lift when he entered, he leant against the panel looking at the floor, holding on to the thought that now, he was free.  
  
Exiting the lift, his face had a look of grim determination. He strode past the secretary who looked up at the sudden movement and saw his back as his baggy jumper flapped about him and his socks showed above his trousers.  
  
"Good luck sir." She whispered. She never knew why she had said it, only that it was right.  
  
************  
  
Later that day, as the sun was saying it's final farewell, a very dusty Mike scrambled out of a taxi at the foot of what seemed to be a small mountain. The purple rays of the dying day hit it, but seemed to be absorbed. No light came from it or seemed to reach it, yet all the angles of the huge castle that dominated the slope were thrown into sharp relief. It towered over the landscape, a thorn among the flowers of perfectly manicured gardens and pastel houses. The gates were boarded, and a bramble 10 feet high formed a seemingly impenetrable barrier right round the base. Looking up at it, he could see why the driver had thought him mad:  
  
"Listen, son. Why the hell d'you want to go there?! The place is haunted - not that I'm a suspicious man - but anyone can tell that place is bad news."  
  
Mike looked at him as though he himself was mad.  
  
"I promised someone." He said, so quietly the driver could barely hear it.  
  
"Oh right, a bet? Well I hope it's worth it. Me, I wouldn't go up there if all the demons of the Earth was after me!"  
  
Mike had just sat and thought about how exaggerated taxi driver's tales were. Now he saw that there were rare occasions when they were right. If ever there were a haunted house, Mike would bet that it was this one. Inwardly shuddering, he took a deep breath and clambered over the gate.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Phew! That one took a while coming. Sorry about the delay. I hope you like it. Don't worry, Edward WILL arrive next chapter. Promise =D  
  
Comments and constructive criticism welcomed and encouraged! 


	3. Legacy of the Angel

Disclaimer - I don't own Edward or any other characters featuring in the film "Edward Scissorhands." However, Mike and any new characters belong to me.  
  
Thanks for the nice reviews! I wasn't sure whether to continue this story, but if people like it then who am I to argue. As promised, Edward appears in this chapter.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Angel Tears  
  
Chapter 3 - Legacy of the Angel  
  
As Mike hauled himself up and over the brambles, he realised he had made a big mistake. The drop in front of him was 10 feet at least, and the plants ended abruptly at a wall too smooth to grip. It was too dark to see what lay on the ground, and the hard concrete behind him made going back a painful business. His climb had taken him several minutes, and the taxi driver had eventually given up and left him. He was alone.  
  
Peering desperately at the ground, Mike caught a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. Turing, he managed to catch a glimpse of a figure, before he lost his balance and pitched forward over the wall.  
  
Soft, powdery earth cushioned his fall, but he was still badly bruised. Now he was on the ground he could see more clearly the hill he must climb. Skeleton-like trees clawed their way up the hillside, and thorny bushes barred the path to the road that wound steadily upwards. Dry leaves crunched under him - It seemed no rain ever reached the ground. The shadows surrounded him, and a pale glow was all he could use to see by.  
  
Staggering to his feet, Mike searched vainly for the light source. It seemed to come from everywhere at once: like moonlight, but colder and not able to reach very far into the shadows. A whispering sound filled the air - like the breath of wind through leaves, but the trees were bare, and there was not even a light breeze to move the branches.  
  
"This place is definitely haunted!" He muttered, remembering the strange figure. "If I find this boy he will probably be scared out of his wits!"  
  
The reminder of his purpose there gave him new strength. Rubbing his aching muscles, he started up the hill, pushing aside branches and wading through leaves. He stumbled often, his thin arms and small frame tired easily, and his scars burned as if they were filled with molten lead.  
  
He was just a little more than halfway up the hill when the inevitable happened. Snagging his foot on a hidden tree root, he went sprawling into the leaves. His ankle twisted painfully and he dragged himself to a rock to rest. Looking back down the hill, he realised he couldn't see any of the suburban neighbourhood he passed on the way. All he saw were the stars, and the shapes of branches overhead. He knew he should be able to see something, and panic overcame him. He began to shiver, and his clothes were soon drenched with sweat. To him the temperature had dropped a good ten degrees, and his sweater clung to him like a restraint. Swiftly hauling himself to his feet, he tripped and almost fell in his rush to run down the hill, then staggered backwards as a figure barred his path. His ankle again gave way and he fell backwards.  
  
Squinting up at the figure, Mike was relieved to find that it was strangely familiar. Blue, transparent and giving a light of his own, a young boy ("No, a young-looking boy." Mike reminded himself) with eyes older than his years stood before him. Unless you looked closely, you might miss the fact that his lower body went through the leaves and rocks to touch the ground. His face was unfamiliar to Mike, but his manner and presence were nothing but warm and peaceful. The boy stood still as mike tried to get to his feet, a slight look of regret his apology for not helping him to rise. When Mike got up, he offered his hand. The boy reached out, and soundlessly placed his hand around Mike's, the tips of his fingers passing through Mike's own. The feeling was cold, dead but both of their eyes were alive. The boys with reassurance, Mike's with hope.  
  
"Have courage." The boy said. "You will reach your goal."  
  
Mike looked puzzled as he stared at the boy, then he blurted out  
  
"But you, you're glowing blue! Aren't you one of the newly dead? Why would you help me - "  
  
He stopped, embarrassed. The boy looked faintly amused.  
  
"New in our terms Mike, is a bit different in yours. I have been dead 411 years. In that time, I have never left this hill, but I have always sought to do good and protect. Not all spirits are bad. This is a great thing you have set out to do, and I intend to help you accomplish it."  
  
Mike hung his head.  
  
"I'm sorry - forgive me"  
  
The boy chuckled, and signalled him to raise his head.  
  
"There is nothing to forgive. I know Jonathan, and the thing you are doing means so much to him. You are giving so much. Can you not see that?"  
  
Mike shrugged  
  
"I'm not doing much. Its normal - what anyone would do: nothing special."  
  
"Very well." The boy said. "Go and continue your "not very special" deed."  
  
He smiled knowingly.  
  
"Don't forget we are here to protect you, and if you see John tell him you met Gareth and he said to tell him to visit more often."  
  
Gareth began to fade, and Mike bowed his head in acknowledgement. Once there was no trace of him left, Mike faced the slope of the hill once more. He reached the top 10 minutes later.  
  
************* Finally on flat ground, Mike took a minute to catch his breath. The house towered above him, huge stone gargoyles hunched over the biggest set of gates he had ever seen. The plants were so thick here that only the stone pillars either side suggested it had once been an entrance.  
  
Peeking over the gates were more stone creations, creatures carved from a smooth grey stone. Great stags and eagles reared from the walls, and more columns held animals too strange to identify. The ivy and tendrils covering the gate were thicker than those at the base of the hill, and seemed to Mike to be much more alive. Their stems were pliant, and many had green leaves. He tried to prise them apart but to no avail. Finally he rested, and prepared once more to scale the walls. It was dark on his side of the wall, but the mysterious light threw the house into sharp relief, no colours visible beyond the great shadows.  
  
This time, climbing was easy. The plants made excellent footholds, and no thorns snagged his clothes. He dreaded a further drop to the ground so just before he got to the top he closed his eyes and turned, clambering down then landing quite lightly onto gravel on the other side. He turned round again slowly and opened his eyes.  
  
A shock of colour met his eyes. Flowers of every shape and size crowded his vision. Sinewy paths criss-crossed and wove around sweeping flowerbeds; each filled to the brim with life. The tangy scent of the blooms filled the chilly air, and an eerie mist covered all with a blanket of dampness and cold. A series of dark shapes towered over the beautiful flowers. Looking closer, Mike could see that they were hedges, sculpted to look like all creatures under the sun, and some that he had seen only in books. Great dragons reared their heads over the flowers, and the exquisitely cut lines made them seem almost alive. The huge stone gargoyles above were mirrored in these great plants, a regal stag and its stone twin stood side by side, their heads turned to the point of the setting sun;  
  
The centrepiece of this strange garden was the most striking of all. A great hand, reaching out as if to clasp the moon itself. The nails sculpted to precision detail, the muscle contours bunched as if to move at any moment, it loomed above the central batch of flowers as if in greeting, or perhaps even a warning.  
  
Mike stayed rooted to the spot for a long time, the combination of these living marvels and the cold rendering him immobile. After what seemed like forever, he forced himself to take a few tentative steps. The silence was absolute, his footsteps seemed like hammer blows, muffled buy the cloying atmosphere. To his surprise, the mist did not impede movement, just sound. The cold did not penetrate his bones, but settled on his skin, sending trails of Goosebumps along his arms.  
  
At the end of the path, he came to a great wooden door. The handle was of aged iron, and appeared to have no lock. The swirls of metal on the door almost seemed to move, and made Mike feel quite ill. He looked away, then remembered sombrely the child, and his desperate plea for help. He recalled his journey from the house this morning: fleeting shapes darted round corners at his approach, faint faces on the train melted into the shadows. He knew now why the train ride had sickened him. He was waiting for any one of those faces to cry out to him: to scream in a voice only he could hear. It had happened once before. The curses and threats had followed him for miles, the shimmering figure tailing him to his office, and tormenting him until he could stand it no longer.  
  
With no sleep, and his waking hours haunted by the dead, murdered and tortured. He had been near the end of his own life. He knew that now. It may not have come that night, or the night after: but not far in the near future he was certain he would have joined those echoes of lives, cursing himself for caring, for crying and screaming, instead of distancing himself from the pain of others. Now there were no more angry ghosts, no more days spent running from death. Now he had somewhere to go, something to do. It was a gift that he had even come this far. His life was silent, his sleep untroubled.  
  
With a silent wave of gratitude and promise to the only angel he had ever met, Mike pushed open the door.  
  
*************  
  
The door closed behind him, and cold was shut off as if cut with a knife. Mike stood in a cavernous room, the sounds of his entrance still passing from wall to wall, as if they would never stop. A fine grey dust coated everything in sight, or so it seemed. However, looking behind him there were no prints on the floor, and no sign of any disturbance.  
  
Monstrous figures reminiscent of the gargoyles on the outside of the building loomed from distant corners, and stood as guards to the magnificent staircase, its wrought iron banister twisting up into the darkness. The shadows seemed to reach everywhere, and the light was stopped almost as soon as it entered one of the large ornate windows.  
  
Mike's eye was drawn to the only proper source of light in the room. A window in the roof of the building allowed a pure shaft of white light to shine across the room, and rest upon a door at the far side. Mike didn't know how he knew, but there was no one in the house itself. It wasn't the aged feel of it, or the strange sensation on his skin, or even the door. He could just sense that nothing living was within. The answer lay behind the door, and whatever waited for him there.  
  
He tried walking softly across the room, but as if scorning his attempts to remain unnoticed the house made the echoes still louder, until he could imagine his ears were ringing. He took the most direct path to the door, and tried his best to ignore the massive shapes on either side of him. His squinting eyes fancied he could see butchers hooks, and malevolent faces, their eyes shining in the dark. He kept his eyes stubbornly riveted on the door, and after what seemed like eternity he stood before it.  
  
It was much simpler than the door at the entrance, solid wood, with a large iron lock. To his excitement, he saw that it had been left unlocked, and the lack of rust made it look as if it had been used recently. He rested his hand upon it, and the door swung open without making a sound.  
  
He stood outside, in a narrow passageway the walls of which were covered from head to foot in trailing plants, their leaves intertwining and producing a seemingly impenetrable barrier. A faint light shone at the end of the passage, showing it to not be much more than a few metres long. Mike strode swiftly down the passage; his heart telling him he was about to reach his goal. The gravel crunched under his feet, but he was not aware of it, he rounded the corner at almost a run, and stopped dead when he ran into a figure.  
  
The shock froze him where he stood, his mind racing, waiting for an attack or worse. When the figure did not move he realised what he had not before in his hurry: it was another of the great plant-figures. This one a life- size replica of a girl with long flowing hair. The details were picked out in astonishing detail, her dress was elaborate and adorned with flowers, and her blank face was perfect in every detail except for the eyes. Mike realised with a start that none of the sculptures had eyes.  
  
*Perhaps that is the one area in which they failed* He thought to himself. Then he noticed something else odd.  
  
Whereas the figures right arm was perfectly normal, the left joined in a curve of some sort, walking a few paces past the figure, he saw it was joined with a second, identical to the first. Their linked hands reminiscent of the paper cutouts he had made as a child.  
  
He felt a breath of wind rustle his sweater. Twisting round, he realised he was in an open space. It was huge. Possibly bigger than a football field. It was impossible to see the end of it. It was mostly lawn, but around the edges, as far as he could see, were more flowerbeds, even more beautiful than those at the front of the house. The girl figures lined the high wall that ran around the length of the space, stopping where it met the house. On both sides they ran, a seemingly endless procession, each as beautiful as the last. Their legs poised as if for dancing, their faces though eyeless unutterably sad.  
  
Mike drew in a deep breath. There was someone else there. Almost at the edge of his vision, the earth seemed to slope downwards. Crouched directly in the centre of the space was a figure, almost invisible in the faint light. The light seemed in places to swallow them up, in others to make them shine as bright as day. They had their back to him, but still Mike could not doubt who he was.  
  
"Edward." He whispered.  
  
The figure saw no sign of having heard, or even noticing he was there. Gingerly, Mike started walking towards him, felling like some sort of intruder, and ashamed to speak out. All words seemed meaningless here, their presence vile and dirty.  
  
As he approached Edward, Mike became aware of a faint sound. It was like scratching, but harsh. As if the surface was abrasive and not meant to be touched. There was a faint scritching sound as if of metal, and the soft movement of material as Edward shifted his position and bent once more, intent on something in front of him. Mike drew closer and realised Edward was sitting on a massive slab of stone, directly in the centre. Probably once a patio, now it was worn smooth and completely bare. Edward had something metal in his hands, and was using it to chip away at the stone, where something was etched deeply. Before he could see what it was, however; Edward stood and turned to face him.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sorry about the cliffhanger, but this chapter is long enough for me as it is! Anyway, Edward is in it, if only for a little while. Sorry it took so long to update but I wanted to get the description just right. Hope you all like it, and reviews/constructive criticism always welcome =) 


	4. Blind Child

Angel Tears  
  
Chapter 4 - Blind Child  
  
Now I look back on my first meeting with Edward, I realised what a naïve person I was: perhaps the years alone had got to me - I don't know. Seeing him turn slowly towards me, the first movement in the silent garden, I froze to the spot. It sounds so silly saying it now - I had nothing to fear. Then it was as in a nightmare. I hadn't known what to expect, but my mind had not prepared me for what I saw.  
  
It was one of those moments where you remember everything, like how everyone can remember where they were the day someone important dies, or when there is a momentous occasion on television. Though the parts in- between were a blur, I remembered the Angel, and Edward in every detail and I suppose I will never be able to forget.  
  
I suppose the first thing I noticed was his height, yes that was it. He uncoiled from the ground, the black clothes hiding his true size until he was standing fully upright - a good 4 inches taller than myself. He had been deceptively small from the ground, and now I realised that if it came down to a confrontation I would definitely come off worse. I was suddenly aware of the pain in my ankle, and the beads of sweat on my face.  
  
Staring down at the ground as he loomed over me, I dared to glance up and looked into eyes that were so dark as to seem not there at all. The whites of the eye were simple highlights to the enormous pupils, the dark circles round the eyes making them seem to blend effortlessly with the extraordinarily pale skin. The skin was so smooth and white, bearing no marks of age, yet hundreds of scars criss-crossed his face. Bleached of all colour, they made him look like a corpse -a victim of some terrible murder perhaps. His face destroyed any assumption that this was a tall child - it was the face of a man, ageless and somehow horrifying in its expressionless gaze. It was hard to see whether he was looking at me at all, the eyes did not show direction or emotion at first, but then he moved, quick and sudden.  
  
Again, my first reaction was that this was a threat of some kind. I should have trusted Jonathan and known I was in no danger. Edward reached out, and I saw his hands for the first time. Blades of all sizes brushed my arm. His hands were jerry-rigged from what seemed like a random assortment of tools. Two of the fingers were knives, and the index finger had been fashioned out of a pair of large household scissors. I remember thinking "We had a pair of those back home." The little finger was a smaller pair of scissors, the lower blade moving down as his arm arced forward, the blades resting lightly on my shaking arm. Yes, I was afraid.  
  
"Please."  
  
His voice was barely a whisper, as if it hadn't been used for years. I didn't have time to think about what he wanted however, my brain went into overdrive.  
  
Edward stepped forward, and as if in a dance I found myself stumbling backwards at the same pace. Then I realised that with those blades so close to my arm it wasn't such a good idea and stood as still as I could, my arms shaking and sweat running down the back of my neck. That was probably one of the smartest things I did that day.  
  
Edward came closer, slowly, his hand reached out as if in a peace gesture. When he got close enough that I could see every detail of his face, the scars pulling taught as an expression of puzzlement flickered over his features, the skin stretching like a mask. He stood like that for a long time. Then he decided to continue, and again I heard that raspy voice, this time I could feel his breath, colder than anything living should be.  
  
"How much time?"  
  
I didn't have a clue what he meant. I suppose I was expecting something like: "What the hell are you doing in my garden!" and that would have been a perfectly normal thing for him to say - I was trespassing. This was not, however a normal person. He wasn't human, even I could grasp that much. Human-like but with a few differences, which explained why people had chased him back to the mansion. The blades felt even more heavy on my arm, and I felt obliged to give an answer.  
  
"I-I don't understand."  
  
He thought about this for a moment, then as if he had only just noticed, he withdrew his arm and put it by his side as if ashamed, and I saw concern in his face. I must have looked terrified.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
He meant it. He stopped again, and I realised that Edward hadn't talked to anyone in a long time, not since.well I doubted if he wanted to talk about that.  
  
"How much time.since I came home?"  
  
I realised that he wanted to know the year. So I found myself co-operating, delighting in my new-found usefulness.  
  
"When did you come home?"  
  
"Nineteen seventy.eight."  
  
"Well, that means you have been here for over twenty years."  
  
Edward looked at the floor, the scissors blades on his left hand snipped quickly, as if in agitation.  
  
"Too long."  
  
I had to agree. Living on my own for so long had done weird stuff to me. This was a whole new league of isolation and one that I couldn't begin to understand. I tried to continue the conversation, trying anything to break the clinging silence.  
  
"My name is Mike. Please tell me what happened.how this came to be."  
  
"M-Mike."  
  
Edward tried out the name, his mouth stumbling over the unfamiliar word. He took a deep breath (I later found this was out of habit rather than necessity) and told me of his life - how his "father" (and Jonathan's father, I realised I would have to tell him soon) had created him from the many machines in his factory. I realised the cavernous room in the front of the mansion must be the factory, and my fears about that dark place were reduced. He told me of how his father had died before he could have his hands. Here he faltered, and I could see the staring on his face. I realised that his body was trying to cry, but the dark eyes had no tears to give.  
  
"I destroyed them. My hands.I can only destroy: that's what he said."  
  
I was startled by this, and interrupted him, the words tumbling out before I realised I didn't have the whole picture:  
  
"Your father said that to you?"  
  
"No. A boy, a long time ago."  
  
Then he told me of his journey to the outside world, how he had left with the Avon Lady Peg, how she had adopted him and cared for him: and about Kim - That part seemed the most painful. He stopped frequently, but always found the strength to carry on. I waited, my mind struggling to cope with the information. During the pauses, I thought again about Jonathan, and how he had to watch without interfering. My admiration and anger grew - how could life be so unfair. This may sound arrogant, but I think in those moments I was for the first time truly selfless. I cared only for Edward, Jonathan and Kim, and their torturous fate.  
  
As the last words of his story were lost in the mist of the garden, I looked up (I had looked at my feet in shame or anger, possibly both) and realised that tears were streaming down my face. Suddenly humiliated at this display of emotion - especially that which Edward himself was denied: I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. Through the haze of tears I noticed darting shapes behind Edward, flitting through the trees and coming in close as if to touch, then whisking away.  
  
I rubbed my eyes again, and peered closely at the bushes. I had a sinking feeling I knew what those shapes were. Edward noticed my reaction with increasing puzzlement. Keeping his arms firmly by his sides, he turned to look behind him, and again at me. Child-like confusion distorting his adult features.  
  
I did not know what to tell him. I knew what the shapes were, but the strange thing about them was the way they behaved. From their colour, I could see they were spirits, much like Gareth and the children in my room. They were blue in colour (what I could see of them) and they were not solid, though sometimes they swirled close together and became less transparent.  
  
They had seen me looking at them, and came closer, their eyes lighting up with delight. Edward continued to look right at them, but he saw nothing. Many of the spirits embraced him, some cried misty tears, others shouted with joy, their voices whispers on the air. I realised that these other spirits had stayed with Edward all these years, watching over him though his eyes were blind to them. So much pain and suffering, - no one could be heard - and no one could do anything about it - except maybe me. In that moment I felt a surge of power unlike anything I had felt before, my heart grew and emotion filled me up until I felt I could no longer speak for fear my soul would be released, it was so close to the surface.  
  
The spirits crowded closer, Edward, following the movements of my eyes turned around constantly, the spirits trying to get his attention but failing, their desperate cries all forming on single plea:  
  
"Tell him, tell him we are here!"  
  
I realised that the moment had come, I had to tell Edward my reason for being here. He had never asked - maybe he took my presence for granted. Now I had to tell him everything, and when I was done, he wouldn't be so alone any more.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Sorry again for the late update! (I seem to spend many of these A/N's grovelling.) Please tell me what you think, constructive criticism welcome. ^_^ Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, much appreciated!  
  
~Kuja7Dax1~ 


End file.
